


Aladdin and the Malevolent Scarab

by Bprep12



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin - Menken/Ashman, Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Hate to Love, I'm just struggling to think of other tags, Non sex focused, Sex, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:22:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bprep12/pseuds/Bprep12
Summary: We all know the story, a young street rat down on his luck stumbles into a wonderous cave that contains a humorous genie. Together, the young boy and genie work together to defeat a wicked sorcerer, win the heart of a princess and free the enslaved genie. But what if there was no genie this time, and the boy instead came across a cave containing nothing but shadows, illusions and Evil Incarnate herself?





	1. Gotta Eat to Live

**Author's Note:**

> The following story is one that I'm commissioning from a wonderful author named Ojello. If you like this story and want one of your then please look her up.

Steam arose from the pile of fresh loaves of bread in the merchant’s basket—long grey snakes coiling around each one. Fresh, warm loaves with a golden brown crust and a sweet smell that made Aladdin’s mouth water.

He dug into his empty pocket as if doing so would conjure up some money—if only.

Aladdin reached out to grab a loaf, his hand hovered over it for a second before pulling back. There was an internal conflict between his heart and his stomach—as always his stomach won.

Just as he swiped a loaf from the top of the pile the merchant who hadn’t spared so much as a glance in Aladdin’s direction, turned around.

“Thief!” He boomed.

His voice caught the attention of guards who grabbed Aladdin my arms before he could run. They dragged him out of the market dispassionately—as if they held a bag of trash rather than a person. The merchant followed close behind them kicking sand at Aladdin and spitting curses.

Once they reached the outskirts of the market, the guards tossed Aladdin to the ground.

“Come back when you have money.” The merchant said scornfully. He spat at the ground as if the sight of the poor boy left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Aladdin lifted his head and spat out a mouthful of sand, hunger clawed at his insides as he did so. Three familiar voices called for him in the distance, he turned his head in that direction.

Life of a street rat has the potential to be rather lonely. Many wander the streets of Agrabah in stolen clothes one tear away from becoming rags with only the hollow growl of their empty stomach to keep them company. Each time they reached out for help their thin hands were either smacked away... or threatened by a guard’s cutlass.

Finding a fellow street rat one could trust also proved difficult—as street rats weren’t the most trustworthy people. The man who you called a friend one day might sell you out for a piece of meat the next day. They’d sooner find a sack of gold coins than a compassionate or kindred spirit.

Aladdin was what most could consider a rare case.

At his side stood three men who’d gladly drop everything and help him. Who’d starve if it met that having a meal would hurt him. They’d join Aladdin in whatever injudicious scheme he came up with and helped clean up when things when south.

Naturally, Aladdin would do the same for them.

Now Babkak, Omar, and Kassim weren’t the nicest fellows—they often poked fun at Aladdin every chance they got. Even so, it always was nice to know that someone had his back.

On top of that they didn’t come to him empty-handed: Kassim concealed a loaf of bread under his vest.

Kassim held out a hand and pulled Aladdin to his feet. Sand stained his white pants brown—he wiped it off as best he could.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t stealing anymore?” Kassim said, his tone playful and patronizing. He was a tall toned young man about Aladdin’s age—maybe older though most street rats didn’t keep track of each other’s ages.

Dressed head to toe in the colour of passion, Kassim wore a vest and a pair of pants the colour of blood lilies. Ware and sand washed out the once vibrant fabric. Leather bracelets adorned both his hands and matched the black leather belt coiled around his waist. A beaded necklace around his neck caught the afternoon sunlight—the beads went from a muddy colour to a golden hue that complimented his light brown eyes. A bright red fez with a tassel that reached the back of neck tied his look together.

“I did.” Aladdin said, rubbing away an ache in his shoulder.

“And I meant it.”

When they were alive his parents, especially his mother never liked it when he stole. It didn’t matter if it was something they needed. Be it food, clothes or some other necessity his mother always gave him the same look. A look that sent a searing pain through Aladdin’s chest and made him feel like someone should tattoo “world’s worst son” across his forehead.

“Doesn’t seem to be working out for you,” said Omar, mockingly. He was the tallest of the four, the opening in his turquoise shirt showed off a somewhat willowy build.

Aladdin sighed.

“I... slipped up.” He muttered.

Babkak put a hand on Aladdin’s shoulder. Though Babkak wasn’t unfamiliar to hunger pangs, he maintained a rather stout build. Unlike the other’s, whose clothes often slipped off, his yellow and green outfit fit rather comfortably.

“Don’t beat yourself up over that.” He said.

“Think of stealing as a service to the less fortunate.”

Aladdin titled his head.

“We are the less fortunate.”

Kassim chuckled and pulled out the loaf of bread.

“Exactly.”

They gathered around ready to divvy up their prize. Aladdin hung back, and he didn’t move when Kassim motioned for him to come over.

“Come on Aladdin, are you going to starve for the sake of morals?” Omar carped. Kassim and Babkak sighed. Aladdin’s stubbornness would mean more bread for them, but they rather not see him go hungry.

In fact, Kassim decided he’d force a piece of bread into Aladdin’s hand once he broke off a piece for himself and the others.

Aladdin opened his mouth, but his stomach answered for him instead in a long low growl.

His friends stifled their snickers as he walked over.

“This is the last time,” he vowed out loud to himself.

Again, a chorus of chuckles arose from his friends.

“I mean it.” He assured.

“I’m tired of being called a—”

Before Aladdin could finish his sentence, a deep booming voice shattered the silence and pierced his eardrums:

“Thief!”

Aladdin’s heart leapt out of his chest.

“What he said.”

Kassim tossed the bread to Aladdin, and they ran off in different directions.

Aladdin ran straight into the marketplace kicking up a large sand cloud as he did so. The guard swung his cutlass as he dashed after him—not mindlessly, however. Each swung, timed and calculated, carried with it the intent to kill... or maim at the very least.

Aladdin arched his back as the guard took another swing, the tip of the cutlass cut through the air and slashed a hole in the back of his shirt.

He ducked into a large crowd, the myriad of bodies swallowed both him and the guard whole. Aladdin felt his pulse slow when he momentarily lost his pursuer in the sea of bodies, but adrenaline flooded in vines when he saw the tip of a sword catch the light.

As Aladdin pushed his way through the crowd, he heard the guard cry:

“Stop! Thief!”

His deep, ear-splitting holler cut through the everyday sounds of the marketplace.

Once they reached the end of the crowd he glanced around the vicinity for a decent hiding place or escape route. The guard caught up to him before he found anything so, he ran over to a merchant’s stall with bird cages and knocked them over.

A flurry of brown feathers filled the air as a nye of pheasants flew off in different directions. Many flew into the guard’s face slowing him down for a time.

The bird merchant cursed at Aladdin as he ran off, he looked back and hollered an apology.

Aladdin blotted through the market place, often climbing on top of stalls in hopes of putting more distance between him and his sword-wielding pursuer. He tripped on his feet as a burning sensation spread throughout his chest and lungs like wildfire. His legs were lead, and he felt faint as the harsh sun overheated his body.

Before his body gave way he ran into a large stall covered in purple curtains. The curtains were thick blocked out the sun’s heat. The cool air creased Aladdin’s skin as he caught his breath. While his pulse slowed down a sweet, albeit overpowering, scent filled his nostrils—like someone sprayed several bottles of the finest perfume into the air.

The purple curtains absorbed all traces of light, once his eyes got used to the dark he walked through the stall. It didn’t take long for Aladdin to stumble upon a group of women seated on a pile of cushions. They wore silk veils around their mouths and colourful blouses that exposed their stomachs along with long silk skirts.

The girls glanced at Aladdin—quietly sizing him up. They huddled together and whispered among themselves, never taking their eyes off him. A moment later they turned their heads and few of them waved their hands as if batting away a fly—quietly imploring him to go away.

Now, Aladdin hadn’t hoped to do anything at the Haram House—he didn’t even know he was there until she saw the girls. Still, like most young men scorned by cold beauties, Aladdin felt his heart sink when the girls turned their lovely veiled faces away.

He sighed.

“You ladies wouldn’t happen to know a way out of here would you?” He asked. He spoke in a slightly huskier tone than usual—a juvenile attempt to change the girl’s opinions of him... or at the very least see one of them crack a smile.

The girls smiled, though not because they suddenly found Aladdin charming. No, they were just happy to show him out.

Five manicured hands pointed to an exit: a simple opening covered in a purple beaded curtain.

Aladdin smiled back at the girls.

“Thanks.”

Just as he started for the exit a rather large woman burst through the entrance. She, like the girls on the cushions wore colourful silk clothes—though they didn’t look quite as flattering on her. Her rings and bracelets looked like they’d snap at any moment—thin wire wrapped tightly around overstuffed sausage. Aladdin wondered how her jewelry didn’t cut of her blood circulation.

The puffiness of her face made discerning her facial features rather difficult, though the creases and folds in her skin made it clear that she wore a scowl along with a heavy layer of makeup.

She grabbed a nearby broom and chased Aladdin out of the Haram House like he was a stray a cat in a hen house. The girls giggled as Aladdin ran off.

Once he was at a safe distance Aladdin wondered who was more frightening: the royal guard or the Haram House’s attendant woman. Sure, the thought of both of sent shivers down his spine—but one was definitely worse than the other, right?

Aladdin wandered throughout the market place, looking for his friends when a familiar shout shattered his eardrums yet again:

“Stop! Thief!”

This time the guard had a friend with him. This man was bigger—more muscular than his counterpart and a deep red stain coated his sword’s blade.

Yeah. Royal guards were definitely more scary... one hundred percent.

Aladdin bolted in the other direction and the guards followed. He climbed atop a roof, ducking under a clothesline as he reached the edge. The guards, being less graceful than Aladdin, ran into a large white sheet that hung on the clothesline.

They wrestled with it for a moment—an amusing sight that Aladdin couldn’t take his eyes off of. Soon the guards grow fed up wrestling with a sheet and ripped it open with their swords—Aladdin found this sight much less amusing.

As the guards crept closer Aladdin glanced over the roof’s edge. Their scowls melted into twisted smiles.

Aladdin took a deep breath, quelling his palpitating heart. His vision distorted, and the drop seemed higher than it was a moment ago.

“All I gotta do is jump!” He whispered as he threw himself off the roof. Fortunately, the guards didn’t follow, but they scratched their heads when they didn’t find Aladdin’s body in a gruesome pile on the ground below.

The contents of a passing clothing cart cushioned his fall rather nicely. He sank into them like an ill-advised adventure caught in quicksand. The cart’s linens and silks weren’t the highest quality (not that Aladdin would know), but they did smell very nice. A fresh calming scent surrounded Aladdin from all sides as let the cart take him wherever.

Aladdin nodded off a few times, and when the cart reached a complete stop, he pinched his cheek—making sure he was actually awake.

He poked his head out and scanned the area. He saw men and women carrying baskets of fresh bought goods and merchants shamelessly up selling the items in their stalls—but no guards.

Aladdin breathed a sigh of relief—safe... for the moment at least.

He climbed out of the cart and wandered about the market. While he searched for his friends Aladdin glanced over his shoulder every few seconds, half expecting a guard to spot him and restart the chase.

Instead of the angry, snarling faces of the royal guards; Babkak, Omar, and Kassim’s warm, smiles greeted him.

He ran over to them and held up the loaf of bread...or part of it. Kassim broke of a piece of bread and tossed it to Aladdin right when the guard’s showed up. During the chase, Aladdin held the loaf tightly in his arms, almost dropping it a few times. Unfortunately Kassim lost the rest of the bread in the chase.

The bread didn’t look any less appetizing to the men, even though the once warm, soft crust became a cold, hard shell.

“Get out of here!” Snapped a voice a few meters away.

Aladdin turned his head and saw an old beggar. She wandered around the marketplace with open hands, hoping a kind soul offer her money or even the tiniest scrap of food—there was no such soul in the marketplace.

She turned to Aladdin. The dull rag she wore for clothes covered her face, but Aladdin knew starvation and sleepless adorned her face with sunken eyes and hallow cheeks.

Aladdin looked at her and then at the two halves of bread in his hands. Three empty stomach’s growled in protest as he walked towards the beggar.

“Here.” He said offering her the bread and a warm smile. In the distance he heard Omar and Kassim groan while Babkak whined: “Not again...”

The beggar stared up at him—as if saying: “can I really have this?”

Aladdin nodded. She took the broken loaf and Aladdin saw the outline of a smile underneath her rag.

Aladdin walked back to an angry trio of friends—a small chuckle was all he could offer them.

“Why do you always give out lunch away to the first beggar who asks?” Omar asked.

Aladdin shrugged.

“Consider it a service to the less fortunate.”

They rolled their eyes in response and wandered off with empty stomachs and mouths full of complaints.

Aladdin sighed as they walked away. The beggar thanked him, her voice was hoarse and Aladdin couldn’t make out what she said—something along the lines of “You’re such a wonderful person, you’ll be rewarded for this.”

Before she could finish a large guard kicked her from behind. She landed on the ground with a suckling thud.

“You’re in His Majesty’s way, move.” He ordered.

The prince sat in a sedan chair on the shoulders of two other guards. Dressed from head to toe in a fine, white silks; he looked down at the beggar. Not haughtily... more disinterested like he stared at a stain on the ground rather than a person.

Aladdin crouched next to the beggar. Sand coated her face and clothes but she wasn’t hurt.

“Is the prince too good to say excuse me?” Aladdin snapped.

The guard’s expression darkened. Seconds later Aladdin found himself being held by his hair with a blade up against his throat. Impudence was a crime punishable by death or a beating—the guard choose the former.

“Leave him.” The prince said. Not out of compassion in his eyes, Aladdin’s life was no more important than an ant’s. Besides killing the boy might cause a commotion, a prince late because a street rat couldn’t keep his mouth shut—parish the thought.

“He’s not worth killing, I can’t imagine the disgrace he brings his family name.”

He scoffed.

“That’s assuming someone so lowly would have a family name to sully.”

The prince waved his hand and his servants carried his sedan chair away, the guard pushed Aladdin to the side as they passed.

Aladdin picked himself up. He thought of his parents as he watched the sedan chair disappeared in the distance. He sighed, the prince was right—how would his parents react if they saw him like this?

“Someday.” He whispered dusting himself off.

“I’ll make you proud of your boy.”


	2. Visored Advisor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something you all may notice are the odd italics, that's supposed to be the narrator revealing their true feelibgs on certain matters. If you're asking where this was in chapter 1 then the abswaer is simply that me and Ojello didn't properly plan how to include in that chapter. I'll see if it can be added on later though so don't worry, just pretend it's already there for the momment.

The train of Jafar’s cape dragged behind him as he walked through the palace halls, painting the white marbles floors in black and red—a misshapen shadow lined with blood. 

The end of his staff hit the ground with each step he took and soft tapping sound followed him as he walked. It’d be a rather unremarkable staff if it wasn’t for the golden cobra at the head. It had two ruby gemstones for eyes and it was so well crafted you’d think it’d actually bite you if you got too close.

Though his stance was imperious and the air about him cold, Jafar walked with a slight bounce in his step. A few moments ago he had a talk with the Sultan.

It wasn’t an idle, pleasant conversation between old, but a serious discussion about the kingdom’s line of succession. The Sultan had no son, so he had to pick one for his daughter, Jasmine to marry.

Jafar alleviated the Sultan’s burden by offering his own insight.

Jafar spoke with grace, carefully selecting each of his words before sewing them together beautifully.

He spoke in charming incantations, that made the Sultan unavailable to disagree with him—polite manipulation.

_ There’s not many who could match him in charisma, but that’s nothing but a thin veil covering the vile man underneath. _

A short, stout man ran over the Jafar. He dressed head to toe in colours so bright you had to squint when you looked at him—Iago. A small, green feather stuck out of his fez—a nice touch for him considering he screeched like an agitated bird whenever he spoke.

“Jafar! We have a problem!” He hollered in a tone so harsh on the ears, Jafar developed a slight headache when her heard it.

“The prince—”

Jafar slammed the end of his staff against the floor. The charming person he used on the Sultan faded his thin face twisted into a scowl. The fake warmness in his sharp black eyes dissipated, revealing two pools of frozen ink.

_ Iago really is a pathetic creature. _

_ He lacks the courage to speak his own mind and resorts to repeating after others in hopes of earning their favour—a human parrot. _

Iago fell to knees and placed his face to the floor—a dog prostrating himself before his master. He sang Jafar praises and degraded himself. Things along the lines of:

“Forgive me, my lord.” And “I’m not worthy.”

Iago’s words came from a place of obligation and mild resentment. In face his voice was rather monotone and insincere, like he recited a story he’d read too many times and lost interest in.

Once Iago felt like he’d grovelled enough, he lifted his head up and asked:

“Is that enough?”

Now most would find forced adoration off putting, but Jafar didn’t. Perhaps he enjoyed hearing praises so much it didn’t matter how they were said. Made sense, seeing as he was a man cursed with an insatiable lust for power.

Whatever the reason, Jafar’s chapped lips curled into a smile that widened with every word that fell from Iago’s mouth; praises dripped from his tongue like honey that Jafar indulged in greedily.

Iago stood up and his next words forced the smile off Jafar’s face.

“Jasmine’s hasn’t sent the prince away, she’s been talking with him for hours.”

Jafar gritted his teeth. He gripped his staff’s handle so tight, the wood splintered.

“This isn’t good. If Jasmine marries, I’ll lose my claim to the throne.”

Iago rolled his eyes.

“That’s exactly why we have a problem!” He punctuated his sentence with an exasperated huff.

Malice shot from Jafar’s gaze as he glared at Iago. This gaze was sharper and carried more spite than the last one. Quite close to the kind of look someone has when they’re holding a dagger up to someone’s neck.

It wasn’t long before Iago found his face pressed to the floor singing Jafar’s praises—the second verse just as insincere as the first.

Though even that wasn’t enough to lift Jafar’s mood. He strode off in the direction of Jasmine’s chambers, Iago tripped over himself as he got up to follow him.

They found the Sultan pacing outside Jasmine’s door. His eyebrows knitted together as he mumbled to himself, either worried musings or practice for what to say when Jasmine and the prince finally left the room.

Jafar and Iago watched from behind a pillar a safe distance away; close enough to see and hear everything but a far enough to avoid being noticed.

The door to Jasmine’s chambers burst open making way for a rather displeased prince to stomp way.

The Sultan grimaced, he wasn’t unfamiliar with those types of situations as Jasmine was a rather strong-willed woman—a rarity among women of noble blood.

Most princes preferred a quiet, beautiful wife who never disagreed and bore them sons. The type of women whose vocabularies lacked words and phrases like “no” or “I think”.

Naturally, the princes didn’t care to take Jasmine as a bride—which worked out fine as Jasmine didn’t care to marry them.

The prince stomped to the Sultan wearing an irate glare as if someone at the cheated him into buying vinegar instead of wine.

“I was told she was amiable...” he grumbled.

The Sultan offered a sheepish smile.

“She  _ is  _ amiable.” He said, quite sure of this fact himself. Though her sharp tongue scared princes away, Jasmine was indeed a pleasure to be around.

The prince went on, “I was told she was charming.”

The Sultan titled his head, slightly confused. Surely the prince wouldn’t mind having a charming wife... so what exactly was he displeased with?

“She  _ is  _ charming,” he said.

“I was told she was  _ obedient _ .”

The Sultan forced himself to widen his smile. 

“She is... charming.” The Sultan repeated.

Describing Jasmine as “obedient” would be a horrendous lie.

_ There’s not much to say about the Sultan, other than he’s very kind and his mind isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be.  As for his daughter... all she does is whine for freedom like a spoilt child. Because of that she tossed away quite a gem without realizing it. A gem I was more than happy to claim as my own—but that part comes a bit later, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. _

The prince stormed off, ignoring the Sultan’s attempts at calling him back. Peaking from behind their pillar Iago snickered and Jafar’s concerned scowl melted into a twisted ear to ear grin.

One less prince to worry about and seeing as there were only so many to begin with, seizing the throne became less of a malevolent daydream.

“Jasmine!” The Sultan called. He never liked raising his voice around her, but disappointment broke temporary broke his filter.

Jasmine stepped out of her chambers, offering her father a sheepish smile that faded into a grimace when he didn’t smile back.

Simply saying that Jasmine was beautiful was somewhat of an understatement.

Rare gemstones were sewn into her turquoise blouse and pants and sparkled whenever sunlight hit them. The large lapis stone embedded in her tiara completed her tied her look together.

Though it wasn’t simply her clothes that made Jasmine beautiful. She had beautiful olive skin that stayed soft even during dry weather. Long ebony hair draped over her shoulders and framed her slender, doll-like face.

“How many worthy suitors will you send away, Jasmine? You have to pick one soon... we’re running out of princes.”

Jasmine crossed her arms and sighed. Preparing herself for a conversation she’d had countless times. Perhaps this was the time she’d finally change her father’s mind—perhaps Jasmine was a bit too optimistic. Palace life does lead people to think the world is kinder than it really is.

“Jasmine, the Queen can’t rule on her own. That’s the law, it’s been so for a thousand years.” The Sultan didn’t raise his voice, but his tone carried the faint frustration of having to explain the same thing over and over.

“The law is wrong.”

The Sultan shuttered at the thought of such a thing. Where on earth did she get such outlandish ideas?

Jasmine took a deep a breath.

“I if I do marry I want it to be for love.”

The Sultan sighed, Jasmine was passionate about what she wanted, a quality of hers which he adored, but knew better than to held her hold on to such childish and romantic ideals.

“My dear, it’s not just about law.” He reached up to place a hand on Jasmine’s cheek, but she stepped back.

“I’m not going to be around forever, and I won’t be at peace unless I know you’re going to be well taken care of.”

“How come I never get to decide anything for myself?”

The Sultan shook his head.

“Because you’re the princess.” Throughout the conversation the Sultan’s tone gradually got sterner—still he never raised his voice.

“But—”

“You must marry and that’s final.”

Jasmine tuned around in a huff and walked back to her chambers, ignoring her father when he called for her.

A large tiger laid stretched out on her bed. Though Rajah shared the same appearance as any other tiger, palace life spoiled him leaving him with the temperament of a coddled house cat rather than a bloodthirsty beast.

His ears perked up when Jasmine opened her door eyes lazily following her as she made her way to her bed at the centre of the room. Jasmine sat at the foot of her bed and let out a long sigh. She perked up when Rajah placed his head on her lap.

“I really can’t stand it here,” she groaned. Rajah nudged Jasmine’s face. When she turned to him he licked her nose.

Jasmine smiled and cupped Rajah’s face in her hands.  He titled his head it such a way it almost looked like we smiled at her—Jasmine felt her heart melt.

Now, looking at the ravenous eyes of a tiger would fill the average person with unbridled fear, but Rajah’s eyes held the same innocent sparkle from when he was a cub.

Staring into Rajah’s round, amber eyes never failed to put Jasmine at ease.

Rajah laid his head on Jasmine’s lap and looked up at her, ready to listen to whatever grievances she needed voice.

“Having your life lived for you because of some silly law written a thousand years ago, that’s not living. I wonder... what’s it like to follow your heart and make decisions as you see it.”

Jasmine glanced outside her window, the line of buildings outside the palace gate seemed to mock her. A rouge thought entered Jasmine’s mind as she stared at the gate:

“If I tied enough sheets together, I might be able to climb over it...”

“That’s it.” Jasmine smiled down at Rajah.

“Why sit here wondering what freedom feels like when I can experience it for myself?”

 

*** *** *** ***

 

One would think there wasn’t a room in the place the Sultan wasn’t aware of, but the cold, drippy dungeon Jafar and Iago stood in was the sole expectation. 

Of course there were dungeons the Sultan knew about, but seeing as he seldom threw anyone in them, he never bothered keeping track of them.

Even if he did, this particular dungeon laid deep underneath the palace. Weak flames of torches lining the walls provided the only source of light and elongated dancing shadows on the walls. Rusted shackles swung from the ceiling filling the room with slow eerie, creaking sounds.

The perfect place to crawl into when you had something vile to hide.

Jafar stood over a large black cauldron and uncorked a small green vial. The vial glowed as a white mist rose up from the opening. Most would be tentative about drinking or even holding such a thing, but Jafar downed the entire bottle without a second thought.

He dropped the potion when he finished, it shattered as Iago walked over to him holding a scarab beetle.

Jafar held out his hand and Iago placed the beetle in his open palm.

“What do you need all this for?” Iago asked. He stood on his tiptoes and looked into the cauldron and stared at his warped reflection in a pool of rippling black water.

There was a faint *plop* sound when Jafar dropped the scarab into the cauldron.

“The way things are now I only have the tiniest chance at becoming Sultan, but with the help of magic I can guarantee my rightful place on the throne.”

Jafar pulled his cape over his eyes as rays of bright, green light poured out of the caldron.

A voice arose from the cauldron, an echoing voice far too deep to belong to a human.

“If power is what you seek,” it said.

“You must go the cave of Morbia. Within its walls lies an ancient magic known as the power of Evil Incarnate.”

“However,” continued the voice.

“Only the Diamond in the Ruff can enter the cave of Morbia.”

Jafar leaned into the cauldron.

“Who is the Diamond in the Ruff?”

The cauldron glowed again, and an image appeared in the water. The ripping waves made it hard to make out anything at first—features and details cleared up one at a time. 

Jafar and Iago grimaced at the person in the caldron: a young boy with bright eyes, dressed in rags—Aladdin.

“Him? How could this peasant be anything special?” Iago snapped.

The cauldron’s glow turned red.

“You dare question my judgement!?” It’s deep, booming voice made the entire room quake.

_ They’re ones to talk. Anyone who uses such power for the sake of such a trivial goal can't be worth much. _

Jafar and Iago bowed and apologized to the caldron two things Jafar wasn’t at all used to doing.

The voice repeated its—er himself one last time.

“Only the Diamond in the Ruff may enter the cave of Morbia.”

The green slowly dissipated until all that was left was a still pool of black water.

Jafar turned on his heel and brusquely walked away from the caldron. Iago followed suit happy to put some distance between him and whatever temperamental enity lived in the caldron.

“That boy doesn’t look like much now,” Iago said.

“But once he enters the cave... he’ll be power and clout personified.”

Jafar scoffed.

“No he won’t, that right belongs to another man.”

“Who’s he?” Iago asked.

Jafar chuckled, as if Iago asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“Why me.” He answered as the ends of his lips curled into a wicked smile.


	3. From Riches to Rags and Back

Ambient sounds of the marketplace filled the air as Aladdin and his friends strolled in. It hadn’t been long since their incident with the bread merchant, and the guards wouldn’t forget their faces so easily. However, as long as they concealed themselves in the ever-growing crowd and kept out of trouble there’d be no cause for worry. Though every once in a while they’d glance over their shoulders for any familiar unfriendly faces wandering about the crowd and adjust their course accordingly. 

The group found themselves on the other side of the marketplace, densely populated with people didn’t recognize any of the men—though even if they no one was interested in offering anything more than a side glance.

The crowd’s disinterest was about to change however—provided Aladdin’s new plan worked out.

Life on the streets allowed people to hone all kinds of talents. Though many were dishonest in nature and only practical for street survival.

Like being fast enough to swipe food at the exact moment the merchant turns around,  getting close enough to an unsuspecting shopper and sneaking whatever you can out of their pocket or knowing the best hiding places when guards and angry merchants proved to be a lot faster than they looked.

Some street rats, however, picked up more... acceptable skills and turned simple passions such as acting, singing, and dancing into an honest means of putting bread on the table.

Though the group lacked passion and talent in such pursuits Aladdin figured it be a fine way for him and his friends to turn over a new leaf. Maybe they’d discover hidden talents, become a famous traveling quartet and live the rest of their lives in luxurious comfort... one could dream.

Unfortunately Aladdin found that getting Babkak and Kassim interested in the potentially lucrative world of the performing arts was about as successful as getting a pack of wolves interested in a bowl of lettuce.

They rolled their eyes when Aladdin told them his idea.

“Yeah, that sounds really stupid.” Kassim said dismissively.

Babkak then added, “And I doubt making fools of ourselves will get us much money.”

Omar was the only one of the three on board with the plan. “I think it’ll be nice to get some positive attention for once.” He said.

Babkak nodded and thought for a moment. He decided he’d join in a few moments later. Though whether he agreed because Omar’s comment convinced him it was a good idea was anyone’s guess.

Kassim sighed. “Yeah, well I'd still rather not perform like a dancing monkey.”

Aladdin thought this might happen. Kassim always was quite the stubborn one. It wasn’t uncommon for three of them to be ready and willing to dive into whatever plan one of them concocted while Kassim remained obstinate. Not a bad quality in situations that require one to hold their ground—but rather annoying when Aladdin, Babkak, and Omar decided they’d try something or simply wanted to get a task done.

Fortunately, it wasn’t impossible to get Kassim to budge. You just needed to know the right words—which Aladdin did. “That's a shame; here I was just thinking you’d be the perfect lead singer.” He said.

Kassim glanced over his shoulder and turned around with a looked crossed between embarrassment and excitement. “Okay, I’m in.”

A few moments later the group began their performance... if one could all it that.

Rushed and unrehearsed, their singing came out as a cacophonous sound harsh on the ears.

Their dancing, equally unpleasant, wad rather uncoordinated, there were more than a few times where Aladdin bumped into Omar and Babkak and they bumped into him.

_ This performance puts a smile to my face. Though they didn’t have much for lyrics. Unless repeating your names over and over while boasting about much you lazed about counts. _

Some passers-by dropped money in Aladdin’s fez which he set down to collect tips. Though were few and far between.

When their performance finally came to a close, many people near them smiled and sighed happily, as if a horrible storm just ended.

Aladdin tipped his fez into his hand and a chorus of groans somehow more harmonious than their earlier singing filled the air. They’d only made handful of pocket change—barely enough for a new loaf of bread.

Around the same time Jasmine strolled into the market place. She hid her face with a long robed hood made of material fine enough to tip off most passers by that she was a rich man’s daughter.

Though rich men’s daughters shop at the marketplace all the time so no one glanced at her for more than a few seconds.

Except Aladdin.

Something about her made it impossible for him to turn away. Love at first sight perhaps or maybe it was that tendency young men have to draw close to pretty young women. Whether the reason Aladdin left the money with Kassim and walked over to Jasmine.

“Hello madame”, he introduced himself, polishing his speech and offering a slight bow. His best attempt to seem charming which proved a little difficult wretched his clothes looked  Though he hoped his charisma would make up for that.

Jasmine smiled and introduced herself without turning her nose or rolling her eyes—though that was because she was happy talking to someone who wasn’t a guard or handmaid.

“You seem lost,” he said.

Jasmine shook her head. That statement was only half true. Yes, she had no idea where she was but she didn’t have a set distinction in mind either.

“Not surprised. Don’t girls like you have people to do your shopping?”

Jasmine smiled. No one had ever poked fun at her before. Having only received formal greetings and fanciful promises from her past suitors, she found Aladdin’s remark rather refreshing.

“Just looking around.” She said.

“In that case how about I show you around?”

Jasmine hesitated.

For a moment she considered declining, but Aladdin’s bright smile offered all of the freedom and excitement that she craved.

So she nodded, accepting his offer.

Aladdin offered his hand, but Jasmine turned her nose up. There wasn’t any sense of haughtiness in this action as she laughed right after doing so. However, Aladdin felt an all too familiar sting of wounded male pride poke at his chest—very similar to the pang he experienced  at the harem house.

Still, Aladdin couldn’t let such a small act throw him off. Jasmine might think less of him if he did—although that implied she thought rather highly of him to being with.

He showed her around the various sights of the marketplace. From the exotic animals kept in cages to the burlap sacks filled with fragrant ground spices—some of which with scents so strong, your eyes would tear up if you got too close.

Aladdin also delighted Jasmine to the sight of more professional street performers. Her eyes lit with wondrous awe at a man who juggled torches and breathed fire, and she hummed along to the tune a musician sang while playing a sitar. Aladdin preferred Jasmine’s voice to the musician’s.

“You know this is kind of like a date.” He said as they sauntered aimlessly through the marketplace.

Jasmine laughed. “I’d hardly call this a date.”

“Well, I did take all this time to show you around, I think Ideserve a little reward.”

Aladdin puckered his lips slightly and leaned in hoping Jasmine got the hint—she did, but she had no interest in kissing him.

Instead, she grabbed an apple from a nearby stall and tossed it to him.

“Here you go.” She said with a smile.

_ Very cute of the future Sultana. The silly girl should be getting what  she deserves right about... now. _

A scornful voice spoke up before Aladdin could respond. “You’d better be able to pay for that.”

Jasmine turned to the scowl of a rather displeased merchant staring back at her. “Pay? Well I...”

The merchant cut her off. “Nobody steals from my cart!” Aladdin stepped between the merchant and Jasmine, holding her rather close.

“I’m so sorry sir;  my sister... she’s not quite all there.”

At his cue Jasmine chewed on her nails and mumbled to herself. Once in a while she’d call random people’s names or ask where she was.

“See? She really doesn’t know any better. So we’ll get going...”

“There he is!” A familiar, ear splitting voice boomed. Aladdin turned to see one of the guards from earlier charging towards him.

Aladdin grabbed Jasmine by the hand and took off in the opposite direction.

“I really wish I could just get a million miles away from here, from my life, from everything.” Jasmine said, her tone would have been more somber if she wasn’t running to fast.

This time the guards were far more organized in their pursuit, and the fact that Aladdin held Jasmine who couldn’t run as fast didn’t help. It didn’t take long for the guards to catch up.

“Looks like we have something in common,” Aladdin said with a nervous chuckle as one of the guards grabbed him. “Cause I want the exact same right now.”

It wasn’t long before Aladdin found himself on his knees with a cutlass to close to his neck it broke the skin. A small trail of blood spilled out of his wound and stained the blade.

“Stop!” Jasmine yelled.

The guards looked towards her and found that she’d taken off her cloak.

“I am princess Jasmine, daughter of the Sultan; I order you to put down your swords.”

The guards did as Jasmine ordered and fell to their knees apologizing. Once they finished they surrounded her and escorted her back to the place ignoring her protests.

_ This was pretty half-assed attempt at saving the poor boy. She overestimated her status and once she left she had no way of ensuring Aladdin’s life was spared _ .

One guard remained after the others left with Jasmine. He’d rather not have to chase Aladdin around the marketplace again tomorrow, or ever. As far as he knew Jasmine just took pity on a random street rat—it wasn’t like she really cared about him.

“I don’t care what the princess says, I’ve had enough of you.” The guard spat.

_ My point exactly. _

He raised his cutlass and—

“There you are!” called a voice from not to too far away. Aladdin and the guard turned as two hooded figures ran over to them. One of them was tall and slender the other short and stout, and the air about them was anything but familiar—Aladdin was sure he didn’t recognize the voice that called out to him a few moments ago either.

Despite this, Aladdin held his tongue the people hiding under the hoods, whoever they were, seemed rather interested in lending him a hand. And considering the situation he found himself in he would rather not question it—at least not the moment.

The voice that called for Aladdin belonged to the taller hooded person. Aladdin couldn’t say the feeling he got from him was altruistic and kind. In fact, one might say the person gave a vibe more malicious than the guard, though it was quite faint—concealed. Like a cobra hiding in someones basket watching for the perfect moment to strike.

“I do apologize.” He said to the guard. “My nephew here is always getting himself into trouble.” He tilted his head slightly at the word nephew, cueing Aladdin to play along which he did by smiling and referring to the hooded man as his uncle.

The guard let Aladdin go, and the man pressed a small bag of money into his hand.

“This should pay for all the trouble he’s caused today.”

The guard looked at the hooded man then at Aladdin who’d thrown an arm around over his “uncle’s” shoulder while wearing a smile just a little too big to be genuine. The guard wasn’t fully convinced, but not so much so that he’d pry.

“All right, you’re free to go,” he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He held his cutlass up, the tip gleamed in the setting sunlight as he pointed to Aladdin.

“But don’t try this again... next time you won’t be so lucky.”

The hooded man ushered Aladdin to a secluded part of the market place. He let out a long sigh of relief when they stood comfortably away from the line of vision of any guards or grudge holding merchants who might recognize him.

“Thanks for your help back there,” Aladdin said glancing over his shoulder one last time. 

“Uh... who are you two exactly?”

In response the men pulled down their hoods. The tall one had a thin face and jawline along with a chin decorated with a small black goatee. Even though he smiled warmly—or tried to at least—the look in his eyes was quite cruel. The other one looked just as Aladdin though he would: small with a chubby face. Though even his attempt at a friendly smile looked much closer to a mischievous sneer.

One might look at those two and make an excuse to leave, wondering if they should have taken their chances with the guards instead. But Aladdin wasn’t the type to judge a person by how they looked—as he was often a victim of that himself. And seeing as they saved his life a few moments ago he couldn’t bring himself to distrust them.

The tall man introduced himself, “My name is Jafar.” He gestured to the short man next to him, “And this is my servan—assistant Iago.”

Jafar spoke in a polished manner with the confidence that only existed in someone with at least some status.

“Since we saved you, I think it’s only fair we get something in return.” He said, eerie smile never leaving his face.

Aladdin grimaced.

Jafar laughed and shook his head. He seemed to know Aladdin’s worry without him having to say it. “Don’t worry we’re not after money.” He assured.

Iago snickered and muttered under his breath.

“Not that riffraff like you would have any to give—”

Jafar silenced him with a swift kick to the knee.

He cleared his throat.

“We just need your help with an important... errand.”

Aladdin smiled, relieved. “I can help with that.” He said.

“Wonderful. Tell me, have you heard of the Cave of Morbia” Jafar asked.

Aladdin shook his head.

“That’s fine, I’ll  tell you about it on our way there—this way.” Jafar said as he placed a hand on Aladdin’s shoulder and led him out of the market place.

_ Ugh... you can practically smell the villainy on that man—a contemptible skunk is what he is. Moving on... now I don’t want to reveal too much but I will say that Aladdin soon realized his journey with this counterfeit unc wouldn’t be just another Arabian Night _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite what the scene might imply I actually love the song Babkak,Omar,Aladdin,Kassim. I just didn't describe how I wanted the number to go down in the fic very well and found Ojello's idea that they were pretty bad ti be funny.


End file.
